


things you do not speak of

by Anonymous



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Fred is a good dad, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Statutory Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 04:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16824922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Having Jughead around wasn’t actually all that new; he’d been spending nights and long weekends over since Archie dragged him home in the third grade. It takes some adjusting, now that’s he’s living here for the time being, but it’s not a burden. Fred’s just glad to know the kid has a roof over his head, and that he and Archie are getting along again.It’s all going great until Jughead propositions him.





	things you do not speak of

**Author's Note:**

> Based vaguely on some kinkmeme prompt from a long time ago. Set somewhere in the first season.

Having Jughead around wasn’t actually all that new; he’d been spending nights and long weekends over since Archie dragged him home in the third grade. It takes some adjusting, now that’s he’s living here for the time being, but it’s not a burden. Fred’s just glad to know the kid has a roof over his head, and that he and Archie are getting along again.

It’s all going great until Jughead propositions him. 

It’s nothing spoken, almost a month into his stay, Archie gone at late-night varsity practice. The two of them are watching some sitcom in the living room to pass the time. Jughead reaches over, and Fred assumes he’s going for the chips on Fred’s right, so he leans back to give him room. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Jug runs a hesitant hand up his thigh instead. The kid pulls back immediately, like he’s been burned. The laugh track from the tv runs in the background.

“Jug,” he says, confused and afraid of the way he flinches back at the sound, “What--?”

“I’m sorry,” Jughead says, “I thought you--don’t you want--”

“No,” Fred says, “Why would--”

“I can make it good,” the kid says, voice shaking. 

“Jug--”

“You can cover my face, if you want, I’ll--” 

“Stop,” Fred says, horrified, “Jesus, Jug.”

“I’m sorry,” Jughead says, voice small, “I thought you--I’m sorry, I’ll just--” he stands up, jerky. Before Fred can say anything else, he’s out of the room. Fred can hear his footsteps as he dashes up the stairs.

What the fuck, Fred thinks. What the fuck. What the fuck. Why the hell would he--? Jughead is like a son to him, what could he have done to make the boy think that he wanted to… 

Fred shakes his head, trying to gather his thoughts, and stands up to follow him up the stairs. He feels a little sick. He feels a little scared.

“Jughead,” he says, hovering in the doorway of Archie’s room; the boy jumps where’s he’s trying to shove all of his clothes into his backpack, spins around to face him. He looks terrified. “You’re shaking,” he notes. Jughead crosses his arms over his chest. 

Fred take a step forward, but then changes his mind and quickly steps back. The last thing he wants to do is make Jughead feel cornered. Right now, he looks like a frightened animal, like the puppies you find at the pound, frightened after years of abuse. The similarities don’t do anything to help the unease building in his stomach.

“You should sit down,” he says; Jughead looks at him for a moment and then slowly sits down on the bed, keeping his arms folded against his chest. 

“I don’t,” Jug starts, and stops, and starts again, “I don’t understand what you want.”

Fred sits cautiously on the bed, far enough away to give him plenty of space. “I don’t want anything from you,” he says carefully.

“But I haven’t paid you back, ‘n that’s not right. I don’t…have any money or anything, so I just thought…”

God, Fred thinks. “You don’t have to pay me back, Jug--god, especially not like that. I’m not going to touch you.”

Jughead curls into himself, “I wouldn’t be mad, if you wanted to.”

“I don’t--”

“I won’t tell Archie,” he says, voice desperately confused. Like the only reason Fred is holding back is because of some fear of his son thinking less of him, “I promise, I won’t--I know not to tell.” 

Fred’s stomach drops. “Jug,” he says, “I need to know why you thought that I would…why you tried to…”

Jughead shrugs, bites his lip in that nervous way he does; just like his dad used to, “It’s what most people want,” he says quietly. 

“Fuck,” Fred breathes, his worst fears coming to light because only god knew how long Jughead had been homeless, how he had even survived that long by himself--Fred knew, now. 

Who the hell had touched him? Laid their hands on a kid? On one of his boys? Did FP know about it? Was FP the one who-- _ no _ , he forcefully stopped himself from thinking; they may not be on the best of terms, but he knew FP, and he knew there was no way FP would ever do something like that. And if he had--well, Fred was prepared to stir up hell. 

But that’s all speculation, and this is now, and Jughead is curled up at the foot of the bed, looking like he’s about to cry.

“Jug,” he says, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder but changing his mind a second time when the kid flinches away from it, “I need you to look at me. Please?” Jughead does, eyes rimmed red, “I need you to know that no one is ever going to touch you again, you hear me? No one else is going to lay a hand on you.” 

Jughead is silent for a long moment, biting his lip. “I’m sorry,” he says eventually, voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have…”

“Jug, you don’t have to be sorry.”

“No, I shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sure.

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” he asks carefully.

Jug looks at him, and looks away again. “I know. I just. I didn’t want you to kick me out.”

He chooses his next words carefully. Sure, he’d worked at the hotline a few nights a week for a semester in college, but he’s not any sort of professional. He doesn’t want to scare him off, but he needs to know what happened if he wants to help him. “Is that something that happened before you started living at the school? Did someone kick you out because you wouldn’t… do that?”

Jughead shrugs. “When I first left, I stayed with this guy my dad used to work with. He asked me to blow him, and I said I didn’t want to, and he threatened to kick me out. And I… I didn’t wanna get kicked out, so I did it.”

Fred sucks in a deep breath to steady himself, “Did FP know about this?” he asks without thinking. Did he stand by and let it happen?

“No,” Jughead says, quiet but firm, “He… he stopped working with the guy a while ago, and they hadn’t really talked since. He didn’t know I was staying with him.”

Would he have put a stop to it if he did? He wonders but doesn’t say out loud. He likes to think so. God knows what Fred would do if he found out something like that happened to Archie.

“Did you only stay with him?” he dares to ask next.

Jughead shakes his head minutely. “No. He had to head out of town for some job, so I kind of. Bounced around for a while. Stayed with some Serpents I knew, or some guys who used to live in the trailer park. I didn’t have very much money, so,” he swallows, keeping his eyes trained on the ground, “So most of ‘em said I could pay them back another way.” he sounds so ashamed Fred could cry. “I didn’t…  _ want _ to, but I just, didn’t know what else to do. Eventually I started staying at the drive-in, but then it closed down and,” he sniffs, “Well, I stayed with the first guy again. He always got a, um, got a kick out of me being FP’s kid and all. He asked for--for too much, one day, and I just--couldn’t. So I went to the school.”

Jesus. 

It could have been worse, Fred tries to tell himself. Jughead could have gotten himself killed; he could’ve gotten kidnapped, it could have gone on for longer. But, looking at the boy he’d watched grow up alongside his own ashamed and hurting, he thinks that it couldn’t be any worse than this. His boy has been hurt in the worst way. By adults, grown ass men who were supposed to protect him, not--not  _ rape _ him. That’s what it was, plain and simple. Even if Jughead had “consented” to trade sex for a roof over his head, he was still a minor. It was statutory rape, if nothing else. It was despicable.

He only realizes his said that last bit out loud when Jughead sobs into his hands. “I  _ know _ ,” he says, “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Jug, son, I’m not mad at you,” he says helplessly. Paternal instincts override anything else, and he puts an arm around the boy’s shaking shoulder to pull him into a hug. Jughead lets himself be pulled, burying his face in Fred’s shoulder. “This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. I’m not mad at you for this, you hear me? I’m mad at the people who did this to you.”

“I agreed to it,” Jughead stresses, like that makes it any better. “I let them.”

“They had power over you,” Fred says gently, “And they abused it. No matter how much you might have agreed, they still shouldn’t have asked that of you in the first place.”

Jughead sniffs a few times, trying to quell his own sobbing but not quite managing. “I know,” he says eventually, “It was just. Easier, to think that it was…”

“Your own decision?” he can feel Jughead nods against him, “That makes sense. But you have to understand: even if you agreed to it, it wasn’t your fault.”

That seems to do the trick. He rubs careful circles into Jug’s shoulder until the crying subsides. Suddenly, Jughead is pulling back, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Please don’t tell my dad,” he says pleadingly.

“Jug,” Fred starts; Jughead shakes his head.

“ _ Please _ , you can’t. He’ll be so mad at me.”

Personally, Fred thinks that FP will be more furious at the people who touched his son than he would ever be at Jughead, but he doesn’t want to upset Jug any further right now. 

“Okay,” he says, putting up his hands in surrender, “I won’t tell him tonight. But I do need to tell him eventually. Jug.”

Jughead doesn’t look happy about that last part, but he eventually concedes with a nod. “Okay. Thank you.”

Fred nods, looking him over carefully. He’s afraid that if he looks away something else terrible will happen, even though he knows that Jug is safe here. “We’ll sort this out, Jug. It’ll be okay. I won’t tell Archie what happened, if you don’t want me to,” he adds when Jug still doesn’t relax at all.

The relief he feels is almost tangible. “Thank you,” he says, sounding so grateful is makes Fred want to cry again. “I think I’ll--maybe I’ll tell him about it, sometime, but I don’t want him to know about everything right now.”

Fred nods, glad that Jug can express himself clearly again. “That’s entirely up to you,” he agrees. 

Jug nods like he’s trying to reassure himself. Fred puts a careful hand on his shoulder to ground him. It seems to help, all the tension seeping out of him. “Thanks, Mr A,” he says quietly, almost shy. It just about breaks Fred’s heart.

“It’s no problem, Jug. You wanna go downstairs to wait for Arch to get home?”

Jughead takes the out gratefully. The episode of the show they were watching is long since over.

Later, after both his boys are in bed, Fred decides he has to break his promise. He calls the number he hasn’t called him ages but still knows by heart. It rings three times.

“FP,” he says, cutting off any remarks the man might’ve had for him; this is infinitely more important, “You have some trash to go take out.”

  
  



End file.
